


Girl Walks Into a Bar

by Xeen



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:57:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeen/pseuds/Xeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-season 1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Girl Walks in a Bar**

 

I don't on Stitchers

 

 

Kirsten opens the door, throws her bag on the counter. "What is it?"

"Oh, this, just a flyer I got on campus," Camille explains from the couch. "We're so going."

"Graduate Student Speed Dating Special Event Tonite? Absolutely not," answers the blonde without giving the piece of glossy paper another look.

"Okay, let's try again." Camille sits her magazine on the coffee table. "Hi Kirsten, got this flyer this afternoon. Want to come with?"

"Why would I? Aren't we supposed to study together this weekend?"

"Yes, we are, you're making my point for me. This is exactly why this flyer is coming handy."

"I'm listening. But I don't see how it qualifies."

"First off, it'll be fun and it's all the rage at the moment."

"Is it your pitch? Still not convinced. No," she adds, walking away.

"Wait. It qualifies as a unique opportunity to release some tension."

It stops Kirsten in her tracks. "That's good."

"It is, right? It's also a unique opportunity to choose from an extensive gene pool."

"Not unique then."

"Let me explain further. It's unique because there's no registration involved."

"You really expect me to pay to get into a bar? How is it a good thing?"

"Special event? Hellooo… It means we can go, have a look and split if we don't fancy anyone."

"I don't understand but it sounds intriguing. Tell me more."

"During these events, people are rotated to meet with a potential match over as many five minutes dates they can stand. When the bell rings, or the whistle blows or someone clinks a glass…"

"…. we change places. Why does it have to last five minutes? It seems like a waste of time."

"It's the rule. And you don't care anyway."

"True. I need a glass of water," she says going to the kitchen with Camille behind her, "please, continue."

Her roommate retrieves a beer from the fridge and slouched on a chair. "The answer to your question is yes and no. The five minute rule is a waste of time but you can't imagine the crowd! So, potentially, it's a win. If despite their initial appeal you get stuck with Dopey or Grumpy, you're on for the next five minutes or you're disqualified. You're supposed to wait before having another try."

"I see. More like square dance?"

Camille nods enthusiastically. "I agree it takes like three seconds to decide if the guy is more than up to par. The beauty of it, we're not like going on a shopping spree, we don't have to buy everything."

"I see. That's interesting. Once we're registered, we don't have to sit with a designated guy?"

"Of course not, you kidding! If we don't want to spend the night, we take our time and make the right choice the first time."

"It seems like a no-brainer."

"Exactly, we're just there, two roommates pretending we're into this stupid dating thing, when our goal is to hit a home run. We have to be precise and move fast before the guy finds a match. Eyes on the prize. Never forget they're going for the same obvious reasons, big surprise."

"I see," Kirsten sips on her water, her eyes set on her feet.

"If we fail at the first strike, we simply move on to the next fabulous guy in the pool."

"It's very time efficient."

"It is! The purpose of the event is to find a compatible match but who cares? We're just there to take him out for a test drive."

"Okay, so basically, sports metaphors aside, you suggest it's a perfect delivery system to get laid?"

Camille frowns. "Why am I sensing you're not on board?"

"I don't do one night stands," Kirsten deadpans, "I'll pass."

"You're calling me promiscuous, seriously? What does that make you?"

"So you're saying I'm a prude?"

"I might have imply that," says Camille. "My bad!"

"No, don't beat yourself up, I don't advertise my sex life."

Camille stands up, palms up. "Verdict?" she beams.

"I'm game. You're right, I could use the distraction." Kirsten puts her empty glass in the sink. "Let's go."

"Hey, hold your horses. We have two hours to kill. Let's get dressed."

Kirsten's eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "I am."

"Oh no, you're not. We're not looking for Prince Charming, we have to doll up."

"Right. Efficiency, we don't have all night. Let's get this over with."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Cameron, elbows propped on the bar, sips on his single malt. Worse Friday evening ever. His partner in crime decided against tagging along to attend an umpteenth dinner with his parents. "My mum is making her famous Chooze Aur Chauli Ka Milap," Linus stated before leaving the lab. "Rain check?"

So rain check it was. To make things worse, Cameron's favourite bar was bursting at the seams. Strange enough, despite their age, everybody behaves in quite an orderly fashion. He signals the bar tender for another drink and turns to the door, keeping an eye on the never-ending flow of students coming in. Something's definitely amiss. He always feels out of place here because the crowd is much older than he is. "What's going on tonight?" he asks the bar tender when he's back with his glass. "Some rendezvous point?"

The guys hands out a flyer. "It's usually on Thursdays. You're not a regular, probably missed it."

Cameron frowns. How pathetic is this? He abhors dating sites even more than being alone, but at least people stay in the privacy of their home, or manage to find a secluded spot in an Internet café. They don't make a spectacle of themselves in a bar. He downs his drink in one gulp, ready to call it a night when he spots two girls walking in like they own the place. Nothing shady about them, maybe they didn't know either they were about to walk into a trap. Much to his disappointment, they make a bee line to the guy in charge of the event. The redhead seems determined enough. She sets her sights on a sturdy guy, some kind of Linus' clone. She finds them a table and they immediately engage into a lively conversation. Her friend is more circumspect. Stone-faced, she scans the room. When she doesn't find what she's looking for, she goes directly to the bar.

"A bottle of Coors with a shot of Yamazaki," she orders. She comfortably sits on the next stool, ignoring him, and begins to type on her giant phone.

Against his better judgment, Cameron stays put. He's never been the kind of guy who gets the girl. He knows it for a fact. He's made of the transparent stuff, he's the cheery neighbour, the best friend, the confidante, the one every girl and their cousins go to when they need help. But he's never been once the one who gets the girl. Why would it be any different with the gorgeous blonde that practically fell into his lap tonight, seemingly uninterested by the ambient ruckus? He can't help to look around. Obviously, she came to that "thing" to help a friend, not that she seems to need any help right now. She's already packing up with her exotic new friend in tow, oblivious of the girl she came with in the first place.

After a good ten minutes, Cameron clears his throat to get her attention. Miss America is not easily distracted, he thinks when she doesn't react despite his third attempt. "Miss, you've been here a while and you never got your drink." She turns around, eyes set on her phone. "He probably forgot your order," he adds smiling.

She finally stops, looks up at him, and simply stares. "It's the lamest come-on line if I ever heard one," she says. Her eyes wander from his jeans to his plaid shirt, stop for a second at his green eyes, before going to his curly hair and back to his mouth. Her own curls into a smug smile.

"Hey, easy Tiger, I have no intention of hitting on you, believe me, you're not my type."

"I'm any guy type. I have breasts and a vagina."

"Coming strong tonight, Ace, good for you. Now regroup. Where is your drink? All I was saying."

She glances at the bar. "Oh… The bar tender forgot my order."

"Here you go. I wasn't chatting you up. Incidentally, I'll take my leave now."

"Why?"

Good question. Why spend an evening with a drop dead blonde, who definitely has some wits, when you can go home and bake cupcakes or binge-watch Doctor Who? "It's late," he finally says. She doesn't seem to realize it took him forever to answer.

Her eyebrows arches. She checks her phone, bites her lip in deep concentration. "Where do you live? Is it far?"

"Just round the corner."

"Good, let's go. I don't need the drink. My finals are next week, I've got a lot of studying to do."

"You want… you want to go to my place?"

"Isn't it what I just said?"

"How romantic!" Cameron huffs.

"I don't do romantic." She stares at him again, putting away her phone. "You're a nerd. You went to the prom alone, you dated the mousy girl who works overtime at the library in college, and now you're probably working in some lab. You spend your free time obsessing about cosplay or some obscure TV show. For all I know, you have a cat."

"I don't," he says feebly. "I'm a dog person."

"With no dog."

"You don't know that," he whines.

"No hair on your clothes. Look, I'm the most attractive girl in this bar. It's your chance to graduate."

"Are you… huh… a savant?" he stutters.

"I'm not autistic. I know I probably didn't choose the best narrative to chat you up. It's not part of my skill set."

"Sounds enticing."

"Camille talked me into coming here tonight and she's gone already."

"Camille?

"My roommate."

"Sorry, where are my manners," he fake cheers. "I'm Cameron," he holds out his hand. She ignores it. He nervously combs his hair instead.

"Kirsten," she volunteers. "Cameron, you seem like a nice guy, I'm sorry, it was a mistake." She pauses, and retrieves her bag from the counter. "Camille was wrong. It doesn't work."

"Excuse me?"

"She said it'd be easy. It's not. I'm going." She stands up and makes her way to the door.

Cameron finally comes to his senses. "Wait." This girl is all kinds of quirky but he likes her. He jumps from his stool. She's really tall and intimidating but she has the most extraordinary brown eyes. This is it, I'm entering the twilight zone. I'm the spotty lanky nerd in eleventh grade going to the prom with the head cheerleader. I can do this, he thinks, frantic. "I don't have fancy beer or whisky, but I can make a pretty decent mochaccino," he hears himself say.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

She walks past him. "Great apartment, fancy kitchen. It's very pleasing."

"Huh, thank you. So, what would you like to drink? I have tea, coffee, I can make some cocktails or maybe you'd appreciate a green smoothie?"

"Where is the bedroom? Like I said, I've got a lot of studying to do," she says, dropping her bag on the floor. "Where is the bathroom?"

He points her in the right direction. It was a mistake. Probably the biggest mistake he'd made in years. I'm not this kind of guy. Of course you are, his raging hormones push, you're exactly this kind of guy and look at her, she's perfect! Her hair, her eyes, her nose. Stop! I'm not doing this. Resisting the impulse to hit something, he keeps busy in the kitchen, emptying every cabinet, flooding the island kitchen with all the beverages he can put his hands on. And she's back. He feels cornered now.

She glances around, frowns for a second before returning to her impassable self. She hands him a DVD. "I've never seen this one. I'm told it's pretty good."

Seriously? "You don't know Star Wars? What planet are you from, little Padawan?"

"I know the pitch obviously, Dopey. The baddie is the hero's father and there's a big battle at the end."

"Okay… Well, darling, you're in for a treat. Not only is it one of my favourite movie of all times, it's a real must-see."

She plops down on the couch. "Okay. Convince me. But, to be fair, I must warn you, I'm not easily convinced. Water will be fine."

"Shall we?"

"Please."

By the end of 'Return of the Jedi', she's not only convinced, she's enthusiastic. "You're right, it's great. I had no idea. I remember watching a bit of another one, but this orange character really put me off."

"The infamous Jar Jar Binks, don't even get me started," he squeaks.

Beaming at him, she disentangles her legs from his and stretches like her life is depending on it. "I can't believe we stayed up all night. I'm beat, I need some sleep. You don't happen to have chocolate-hazelnut spread, do you?"

"Well, I don't, but I can whip some for you, it's not that hard."

"You can? You're pretty remarkable, Cameron."

"You have no idea," he quips before going beet red. It makes her chuckle. "I mean, I'm pretty good in the kitchen department."

"You're digging your own grave, smarty pants. Come on, show me."

"Huh?"

"Chocolate-hazelnut spread?"

"Yes, yes, sorry, coming right up! I have to tell you it really takes like more than an hour to do it properly, would you settle for a shorter version?"

"Absolutely, it's only chocolate spread," she muses.

"Only chocolate spread? That's insulting!" She smiles. "Okay, let's do this. Can you give me a hand?"

"Of course. What can I do?"

"I already have chopped hazelnuts, you'll roast them in… this pan. I must insist, it's going to be pretty fast, stir regularly, don't let them burn. They have to be golden brown. It takes about two or three minutes."

"What did you say you were doing, neuroscience is wasted on you. Why don't you have your own show, already, 'Cameron's Kitchen' or something?"

"In the mean time," he continues, ignoring her, "I'll heat up slowly some heavy cream and milk. It mustn't boil. Just nice and warm. If you could watch it too, sorry about that. I'll get the grinder."  When he's done with grinding the nuts into a smooth paste, he pours the cream into the bowl, adds softened Belgium dark chocolate, some cocoa powder, vanilla and a tablespoon of honey, mix it. "Et voilà." It's warm and smells delicious. Unfortunately for her, he puts it away into the fridge to get it to room temperature, leaving her to her own devices, scraping down the sides and bottom of the bowl with a spatula. She's not even finished when he produces a batch of fluffy pancakes. "Dig in Sunshine. Coffee or tea?"

"Cold milk will be great. Camille is the one supposed to buy milk but she's awfully unpredictable."

"I take it you like her a lot?"

"Hmmm. I can't tell really. You don't know me yet but feelings are not my strong suit."

Cameron almost chokes but refrain to comment. Does this mean she wants to see him again? He glances at her sheepishly. He could fall for a girl like her. Anyone would, despite her cold demeanour and quirky manners, she's quite a catch. Damn, who is he trying to fool? He's already head over heels for the blonde beauty. His love life has been in shambles since he started working for the Stitchers Program. To be honest, he never had one, really, mostly a string of bad and worse experiences.

"This is so good," she finally says. "It's been a long time since I had a real meal." A real meal? Since when chocolate and pancake qualify as a real meal? "I'm tired, I need to sleep now," she deadpans.

"Sorry, I'll call you a taxi." That puzzled look again.

"What's wrong with your bed?" When he doesn't answer, she simply nods. "Don't bother, I know where is your room. You don't mind if I stay, do you? You can have the couch."

 


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't even noon when she left his apartment. Barely awake, he jumped from the couch. "You're leaving?"

"Like I said, lots of studying to do, Mr I'm stating the obvious. Thank you for a lovely time. It wasn't at all what I expected of this evening."

Blind as a bat, he walked towards her silhouette, tripping over various obstacles on his way. "Will I see you again?"

She nodded. "I enjoyed your company, it was very pleasant."

Desperate, he raked his fingers through his already dishevelled hair. "I don't have your number."

"I know where you live Cameron," she said pointedly. She opened the door and stopped in the doorway. "Don't be a drama queen, it's not sexy," she said, slamming the door shut behind her.

Sexy or not, Cameron did hear of the gorgeous blonde during the following weeks. The prospect of a torrid affair seemed bleaker than ever. It has become all too clear that he had missed his window of opportunity and she simply forgot he even existed. This, them, was never going to happen. He was happy not to be desperate enough to confide in Linus. Being a nerd for most of your conscious life has a way to make you aware your leadership will always be challenged. He loved his new job and wasn't ready yet to relinquish his prerogatives in the lab to alleviate his regrets.

This particular lab had been rustling with rumours of Marta's impending replacement, it would be a welcome distraction. In the end, it should appear it won't. If they were at some point indications of a possible male applicant, -who never materialised, of all possible candidates to the stitch position, Maggie had to choose Miss I'm so much better than the rest of you. His absence of love life had found a twisted way of biting him in the ass. Confident the new recruit couldn't fill the bill, he strategized a battle plan to get rid of her the fastest way possible, directly and informally. As head scientist, he possessed the overall decision making power and the means to implement it. He felt mean for a fleeting moment. Nonetheless, it was quite rewarding for his bruised ego. Payback time! he thought. Let's put to the test whether I can rankle her with some off-putting remarks.

"What's your problem that makes it that you don't have any friends?"

"Says the lonesome guy I picked up in a bar."

"You didn't!" he protested, his voice a higher pitch that he'd plan.

"Of course I did. Are you delusional?"

"We didn't sleep together. So technically, we didn't hook up."

"Technically, you're right. Why should I accept this position? This program is obviously a sham devised to absorb governmental funds and your Maggie seems all sorts of shady."

"She's not my Maggie and there's nothing shady about the program."

"To get a read on dead people falls exactly into the shady category even if your Maggie doesn't."

"She's not my Maggie!"

She raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Whining isn't sexy either."

"I'm not whining. I explain in terms fit for simple minds what we accomplish here."

"You failed miserably or I'm an idiot. I have a preference for the former. You need more than a few vague pointers to convince me to work underground with a confessed egomaniac."

He'll hold her to it. First thing first, getting her into the tank. It's was going to be fun. She'll run screaming!

"You want what now?"

"It's a special jumpsuit. Superconductive metal alloy fibers designed to facilitate the exchange."

"The exchange?"

"You're a conduit. The brain is basically electricity. Do the math."

"If I'm supposed to insert my brain into a corpse…"

"Sample."

"Into a sample, wouldn't it be more efficient if I were naked?"

"They was some unwillingness to use a technician in the nude. We had to come up with a… device," he offered.

"So you don't draw the line between interrogating alive or dead witnesses but your program chooses to reflect one of the corniest aspect of our society? Not enticing. I'll pass."

"If you want to be naked, we can arrange that," said a young man she hadn't noticed yet.

"How convenient," she smirked. "Okay, let's do it," she challenged him matter-of-factly.

Cameron and Linus exchanged a puzzled glance. "You serious?" they said at the same time.

"Of course I am. It seems far more efficient. For the sake of the experiment, whatever experiment you're trying to sell. Still not convinced."

"Okay, I'll get some curtains, or drapes, or… I'll find something," Linus interjected before rushing to the door.

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't have all day," she said, crossing her arms before her chest. "What am I supposed to do? Hold the sample's hand, whisper in its ear?"

"Now you… disrobe and get into the tank."

"Really? The tank? You're not going to hook me to electrodes or whatnot? Can't you be more imaginative?"

"Right this way, I'll show you. It's room temperature."

"Is it sanitized?" she asked, frowning. She gave him a quizzical look.

"Yes it is. After each stitch. And the water is changed twice a day," a young medical assistant joined the conversation.

"Wait. How many stitches am I supposed to make a day?"

"Depends," Cameron offered with a shrug of shoulders. "I can go into specifics if you want to."

"That doesn't sound very scienty to me. I think I'll pass. Again."

"Where is your sense of adventure?"

"Who said I had one? You clearly don't want me here and I want to drop this unpleasant job offer as quickly as I can. Why the hold up? From where I stand, you're only testing me. Unless you're deranged, which seems more likely." She said, evaluating the place. "Not to mention it puts an awful lot of people in this category for a sole place of work."

"Well if it's not scienty enough for you, may I appeal to your inner Sherlock Holmes?"

"Explain."

"Why don't you give it a try," asked Maggie. Kirsten turned around and stared. "It only takes four minutes..."

"Yes, she's right. We can't go longer without endangering your brain. Not that you proved you can use it so far."

"Four minutes?" Kirsten said without any perceivable emotion. "I'm game. It feels like the fastest way to get you off my back. I'll stitch in and take my leave. Is it agreeable with you?"

"It is. Ayo will help you get into the sink and I'll be your pilot on flight 101," announced Cameron.

"Don't push it. I'm just humouring you."

"Whatever you say, Princess. You'll need a safe word."

"A safe word? Why?"

"You'll need it to bounce. Let me see, fifty shades of plaid."

"That's four, and you're the head scientist? This is appalling. Let's do it and get it over with." She walked behind the curtain.

Linus, Maggie and Cameron exchanged a stern look. "This isn't gonna work," Cameron sighed, expecting he wasn't over selling it.

"Just wait," Maggie smiled with a knowing look.

"Ready," Ayo said.

"Your attention please. Your water temperature will be 98.6 °F today. Altitude, ground minus 200 meters. I recommend you keep your feet in contact with your anchor points. We're about to take off in…"

"Really Chuck Yeager?"

"Okay, you ruined it. On my mark, one, two…"

 


	5. Chapter 5

After a grand tour of the facility, he had his mind set. He'll give her the boot right before she had the chance to turn them down. In the end, his clever plan backfired.

Though it seemed highly unlikely that the girl he picked up in a bar would ever set foot inside his lab, and totally impossible she would become part of their experiment, those boxes had been ticked. Worse, he had to reluctantly admit that Kirsten was born to stitch. She made it through electrical surges and computer glitches with flying colours while he could barely keep control of the mice.

When she finally said the safe word, the safe words, he corrected, he sent the pads flying, grabbed a blanket, sprinted to the tank despite Ayo's alarm, tripping on the curtain on his way in. She was getting out of the tank. And she was delirious. And gorgeous. He dropped the blanket and caught her in his arms.

"Greenwich, rendezvous," she stammered against his lips. An eager tongue invaded his mouth, taking him by surprise. Their lips still locked like a jigsaw puzzle, she collapsed against his chest. "Houston, we have a problem," he shouted. "Ayo, come in here, she's unresponsive."

"I don't understand why she won't wake up. Her vitals are within normal parameters," the young medical assistant commented, eyes locked on her tablet. "She should have regained consciousness by now."

"Not very scienty," Linus commented. "What's our plan? Leave her in a garbage container on Hollywood Boulevard? Shoot her with adrenaline?"

"Ayo?" Cameron asked, barely keeping it together. He didn't want Kirsten in _his_ lab, but his plan was never to damage her. Déjà vu.

"I… I don't know."

"Okay. Let's regroup people," Maggie intervened. "Cameron, you have now officially a day off," she checked her watch, "say more like an afternoon. Ayo and her staff will help you with getting Ms Clark to your apartment…"

"My apartment? Why?" he started to whine.

"You live near by. Having you both a stone's throw from the lab…"

"… is more convenient? Seriously? What if she's really… unwell?"

"She's not. Nothing a good night's sleep can't cure. Go people!"

Ayo gave him an apologetic glance and began to arrange Kirsten hasty transfer.

It was some kind of record. Nerd fell hard for a brainy blonde, managed somehow to get her twice in his bed, and yet, due to unforeseen circumstances, here he was, barred from entering his own bedroom. In his mind eye, he read tomorrow headlines. "Breaking News: Geek doesn't get the girl, again." He felt he had been cast in some unreleased Woody Allen movie. Except she hadn't walked off a screen and into his world. Except he wasn't disappearing, he was already completely transparent. Given her weird personality, it wasn't going to go well when she came back to her senses.

He somehow found a way to get to sleep on his couch but woke up with a start. "Cameron!" He sat up, drenched in sweat. "Cameron!" He jumped from the couch, grabbing his glasses on the coffee table and rushed to his bedroom.

"Kirsten, are you okay?" he said in a low voice from the doorway.

"I'm perfectly fine, why are you whispering?" she said. She turned on the light, taking in his dishevelled looks with a faint smile. He had a brief glimpse of her small breast, perfect leg and bright red toes before looking away. "What are you doing? Why aren't you in your bed?" she rubbed it in.

"Because you are?" he whispered again. He cleared his throat, eyes locked on the carpet. "You are in my bed," he said in a more normal voice, "I mean, you were unconscious. I didn't want to give you the wrong impression."

Her smile turned into a broad grin. "You couldn't even if you tried Cameron. You're a nice decent guy. I thought we established that last time we met." Before giving him time to speak, "come on, stay with me, I want to know everything about the program… and that scar," she added, pointing a finger towards his chest. "Heart surgery?"

Subdued, he nodded, hastily jumping under the sheets. "It was a long time ago."

"Okay. So, your program found a way to read dead people mind. Tell me more."

"There's nothing to tell, really. You experienced it first hand. Practically, you know more than I do."

"So, what did I see?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember… feelings? But like I told you I'm not equipped to decipher this kind of stuff. I'm what you would call impaired. I have this special condition."

"Right." Was she making fun of him now? "Like what?"

"Oh, it's called temporal dysplasia. I have no notion of the passing of time and I can't feel anything. I mean I can feel the sun on my face or the heat of a candle on my hand, but I don't do feelings."

"You don't _do_ feelings?"

"I don't understand them. I can catalogue them but I simply can't relate. I'm never sad or happy or else. Now that I'm older, I found it was easier to mimic feelings to make people more comfortable. It doesn't mean I understand these feelings." She shrugged. "Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, I mean no. It's awful!"

"Is it? It doesn't bother me either way. Nothing I can do about it. I was taught to react to certain stimuli. My step father used to show me pictures to get me to understand but it didn't stick."

"Pictures?"

"Yes, like people crying or laughing or being distressed…"

"Right," he nodded. "You can't be serious!" he turned toward her.

"Let's not discuss this right now. I'm more interested in learning everything about stitching. After all, we're going to work together. Does that soaking inside a tank comes with earning a living? I could really use the money."

"Of course it does but I have a say in that."

"My salary?"

"No, you working with me."

"You don't want me to join the Program? Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes. I knew nothing about all this yesterday and I can erase it from my life right now. So, what do you want me to do Cameron?" she said, stroking his arm.

Hiding a shiver, "Do you remember kissing me?" he blurted, feeling like a ninth grader.

"Kissing you? No. When?"

"After the stitch. You said _Greenwich_ _, rendezvous_. And you kissed me. Not necessarily in this order."

"Really? I don't remember. Does it usually happen?"

"No, no, never. Kissing is not associated with stitching in my experience."

"Not the kissing part. The cryptic words… Greenwich," she mused. "Is it a café or a pizza place? A street? Or a reference to the prime meridian?"

"I have no idea. You're supposed to make a connection with the sample and…"

"The sample?"

"The deceased sample?"

"Oh, yes of course, I should have guessed. Objectifying the people placed inside the corpse cassette helps the staff cope with the peculiar nature of their work. Sample, nicely done, you came up with that?" He took a deep breath. "I made a connection but I have no idea what I was supposed to find."

"Why he was killed would be great, and who killed him, an added bonus, for instance."

"I see. Let me rewind."

"Rewind?"

"Temporal dysplasia, that's kind of what I do."

"You can do that? That's insane, it's awful."

She stared at him. "You do know that you sound like a broken record? Don't you want to find out what I saw and help me with it?"

"Of course I do. Your mission, which I feel you must accept, will be to find the person who killed him, and facilitate his arrest," he tried with a contrived smile.

"What's wrong with you," she frowned. "Why are you so formulaic?"

"Don't you watch reruns?" He shook his head, "never mind, let's do this. How can I be of assistance?"

She closed her eyes, and started to recall out loud everything she'd seen during the stitch, singling out every little detail, describing places and people, trying to make sense of all the time jumps she'd experienced. "Well, that's it. What do you think?"

"That's everything?" Cameron asked.

"Yes. Do you need to go through it again?" she asked patiently, her face blank.

"I don't understand. What about Greenwich? And rendezvous?"

"You sure that's what I said?"

"Pretty sure," he huffed, "and then you kissed me. And it was really emotionally charged," he went beet red.

"I see."

"You see?"

"It's a figure of speech, Dr Goodkin. I have no idea why I said that, I have a special condition but I'm not clairvoyant," she spat.

"Don't jump all over me, I'm just trying to help," he lied, frustrated she won't acknowledge the kissing part.

"I take it it's not what was supposed to happen?"

"It was. I mean part of it was, apart from my computer not responding and rebooting after we lost power. Minor glitches, no doubt."

"You don't mean that. It never happened before, am I right? If you're the pilot and you lose control, how am I supposed to stay connected to the sample inside the corpse cassette?"

"So you were listening?" he smirked.

"Yes, that still doesn't mean I trust you to guide me through the process. Maybe that's why it went wrong."

"Absolutely not!" he protested heartily. "You should have been tested before going in. Maggie rushed the whole process. It was unprofessional of me to let you stitch in."

"Except I didn't get the data we needed, almost destroyed your lab, and was totally knocked down in the process," she said. "Don't interrupt, only to land in your bed naked, with no recollection I kissed you. If that's my job, I'm not a fan."

"Which part?"


End file.
